Four Times the Winchesters Tried to Help Castiel
by Dreamscapes Symphonic
Summary: Be Human   And One Time They Actually Succeeded  The Winchesters attempt to help a fallen Castiel adapt to humanity. If only they themselves were well-adjusted enough to help.


1.

Cas waits in the car as Dean and Sam go into the truck stop to pay for gas. "You know," Sam says as they stand in line, "I noticed Cas really hasn't been sleeping at all since..."

Dean hmms distractedly in agreement, searching through his wallet for one credit card in the mess of them. "Maybe we should help him." Sam continues.

This gets Dean to look up. "What, like pills or something?" There's a road he'd rather not go down.

"No, no," Sam says quickly. He frowns, "I dunno, maybe if there's someway to make the room more...peaceful, you know."

Dean shrugs. "He's probably just adjusting still."

"It's been three weeks."

"Sammy, after three weeks as an angel, I doubt you'd be able to get your ass off the ground."

Sam glares at him. "I'm just saying, maybe we should try to help."

"Sure, whatever. Any thoughts?"

Sam glances around the tiny store, as though inspiration will come jumping out of the Coke cooler. His eyes settle on the rack of tapes. "What about music?" he says, stepping out of line to take a closer look.

Dean joins him, glancing at the titles. "Hey, classical music." he says, "That stuff's relaxing."

He picks one up. "Tchaikovsky. 1812 Overture."

"Yeah!" Sam grins. "He's the guy who wrote The Nutcracker. And Swan Lake. That'd be perfect." His Bitchface makes an appearance. "And stop looking at me like that."

Dean continues looking at him like that. "Spend a lot of time at the ballet, do you Sam?" Before Sam can respond, he takes the tape and goes to up to pay.

That night, Sam sets up the cheap tape player he'd found at the Salvation Army earlier that day and hits play. "This will definitely help," he says to Cas, who is sitting on the edge of one of the beds.

"I appreciate it, Sam, but I am fine." Cas says, "I really don't need to sleep."

Sam doesn't respond, but Dean lets out a snort of disbelief. "Just give it a shot, Cas." he says as soft strings begin pouring out of the crackly speakers. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Three minutes later, all three are lying down. Dean can feel himself drifting off and thinks that maybe Sam was onto something.

Ten minutes later, all three are sitting straight up and Sam is lunging for the Off button. The pounding orchestra ceases and Cas looks at both of them, wide eyed, but silent.

Dean speaks first. "Cannons, Sammy? Were those cannons?"

2.

Now that they've got that "identifying when to eat BEFORE passing out" thing down, it's time to teach Cas the mechanics behind cooking a basic meal. Dean really doesn't see the point. After all, it isn't as though they do any cooking on the road. At least not anything that can't be microwaved. But Sam just gives him one of his endless supply of bitchfaces and leads Cas into Bobby's kitchen. "It's easy," he's saying as he ushers the apprehensive man inside and hands him an apron. "We'll start with something simple, like grilled cheese."

Dean sits down on the sofa and takes a swig of beer. There is a clatter of pots and pans behind the kitchen door, then blessed quiet. He flips on the TV.

About ten minutes later there is a yelp of pain, which definitely did not come from Doctor Sexy. Then a crash and Sam's voice yelling, "Shit, fire!"

Dean flies up off the sofa and slams through the kitchen door. Sam is pounding on the curtains, which are fully ablaze and in danger of setting off the cabinets. Cas stands off to the side, clutching his hand and glaring at the smushed sandwich, which lies innocently on the floor.

It takes twenty minutes for the three of them to put out the fire, and another twenty to get the kitchen back to its usual state of organized clutter. It is only then that Dean gets a chance to take a look at Cas's blistered hand. He winces, but says, "Hey man, it's no big deal. I'll go grab some bandages and take care of that for you."

Cas nods miserably, not making eye contact. Dean smiles encouragingly, stands up to get the first aid kit, and promptly wipes out on the forgotten grilled cheese.

3.

Hic.

Hic.

Hic.

"Dean, my vessel is dying."

Dean looks up from his research. "Dude, that's not your vessel anymore," he says, "That's all you."

Cas frowns at him, the effect ruined by another hiccup. "What is-hic-happening?"

"It's the hiccups. No big deal. Go get a drink of water and you'll be fine."

"No, hold your breath for a minute." Sam says, stepping out of the bathroom.

Neither works. "How about a spoonful of sugar?" Sam suggests.

"It's peanut butter, Mary Poppins."

"Whatever. Try both."

Again, nothing. Dean frowns, research forgotten in light of a new, more interesting dilemma. "Try pulling on your tongue," he says, "I heard that works."

Cas obediently sticks out his tongue and gives it a light tug. Then pauses for a moment and smiles. "I think it-hic-worked."

"Nope." Sam is smiling. Or maybe smirking would be more accurate. "Um...how about hanging your head off the bed?"

A moment later, Cas lays on his back across the bed, with his head dangling somewhere near Dean's knees. The hiccups return seconds after he is right-side up again.

"Try drinking from the far side of the cup." Sam says.

As Cas proceeds to soak his trenchcoat, Dean gets up and silently slips behind him. "Hic-I don't think that's a very-hic-very practical solution." Cas says, handing Sam his water cup.

"Boo!"

Dean grabs Cas, who whirls around and pins him to the floor, blade at the ready. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean holds his hands up in surrender, "Just trying to help."

Cas blinks, looking vaguely pissed, but lets Dean up. "And how could that possibly help?"

"Scare you. It cures hiccups."

"Oh. Well, thank you."

They sit for a moment in hiccup free silence. "It worked!" Cas's eyes are full of gratitude. It's as though Dean just returned his wings instead of curing a simple case of hiccups. Dean just smiles back at him and goes back to his reading.

Hic.

Hic.

Hic.

"Dean!"

4.

Among the first things they taught Cas after Zachariah ripped out his grace was how to tell when you had to go to the bathroom. It made for an awkward few days, but the alternative was nothing any of them wanted to consider. Now he was pretty vocal about it, bluntly announcing his need for a bathroom break whenever necessary.

This time they happen to be in the middle of a state forest, hunting for what could only be a wendigo. It is broad daylight, perfect time to find its lair and have the advantage. Dean hopes that this will be a quick in and out job. He's tired and dreaming of his hard, suspiciously stained motel room bed when Cas speaks.

"Dean, I have to go."

He stops and turns. "Seriously? You couldn't have gone at the visitors' center?"

"I didn't have to go then."

"Well, there's not really anything we can do about it right now. Can you hold it?"

"I guess so. Yes."

They keep going. Ten minutes later, "Dean."

"Really, Cas?"

"I need to go now."

He sighs. In all honesty, he could go with a pee break right now too. "Okay, come on." He turns to Sam, "We're gonna go find a tree or something. You good?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, I'll just wait here. Don't go too far from the trail."

Dean shoots him a Really? look and tugs Cas into the trees. He goes just far enough in to be out of sight, but still be within earshot of Sam.

"Dean, where are we going?"

"Today, you learn the joys of answering nature's call in nature's own sweet beauty. One of life's little joys."

The joy is quickly squashed by the arrival of a forest ranger leading a hiking group through the woods. He chases them off, threatening fines and jail time for desecration of government land. And then is even further diminished by the case of poison sumac Cas develops later that night.

5.

Dean pulls up outside the library. "Alrighty, Sammy, pick you up in a couple hours then?"

Sam unfolds himself from the backseat and ducks out into the rain. "Sounds good. Good luck out there."

"Just a poltergeist. Should be nothing. See you later!"

Sam shuts the door and Dean pulls out of the parking lot. "So, how are you doing?" he asks, turning to the passenger seat.

Cas regards him wearily. "Fine, Dean."

"You look like hell."

"Hell is dark and cold. I am neither of those things."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean. You didn't sleep last night, did you?"

"I told you, I don't need to sleep."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean turns up the heater as he pulls onto a quiet country road.

"No music today?" Cas asks him, staring at the road ahead.

"Naa, quiet is good too. Just listening to the engine going. Can you hear it?"

"Yes."

Dean smiles. "Did I ever tell you about the ghost Sam and I went after in the preschool that time?" he asks, his voice low and soft.

"I don't believe so."

"It was something. Middle of Oklahoma, like two years ago. This little girl, she'd died twenty years earlier in the building. There was this music box, this stupid little thing, but it had a lock of her hair in it. Sam tore the building apart looking for it. And then there was this barn out in Massachusetts..."

He goes on for a while, telling story after story, each a mundane case that slides easily into the next as he keeps his voice soft and monotonous. After about seven of these stories, he turns, still talking, to see Cas nodding in his seat, head sliding close to the window and drooping eyes struggling to stay awake.

"Sleep, Cas," he says.

The simple command is all it takes. Cas's head makes contact with the window and he snores softly. Dean smiles, smoothly avoiding a pothole in the road. He's used this trick on Sam for years, talking him to sleep in the car when the nightmares had been too much the night before. Dean's Hypno-voice, Sam had dubbed it.

His phone vibrates against his thigh and he fishes it out, eyes still on the road. "Yeah," he whispers.

"Did it work?" Sam asks.

Dean glances at his companion, whose face is now mashed against the glass. "Yeah, I'd say so. Can you get back okay? I think I'm just gonna drive around for a bit."

"Yeah, no problem. See you later."

Sam disconnects the call and Dean slides his phone back into his pocket. He has no destination in mind, but he's in no hurry to get anywhere in particular. He can't do much to ease his friend's transition from powerful, immortal being to a creature of ash and dust, but at least for right now he can provide a little comfort. With one more look over at the now-drooling former angel, he presses down just a little harder on the gas. The Impala purrs as she makes her way down the empty road.


End file.
